


Fear Keeps You From Falling Off The Edge

by Cyane (orphan_account)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Self-Harm, Hurt No Comfort, Like less than 1000 words short, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Short One Shot, Triggers, Unhappy Ending, Wordcount: 100-500
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Cyane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just some of Bruce Wayne hurting himself and hiding it. Because he has to rid himself of fear, obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear Keeps You From Falling Off The Edge

**Author's Note:**

> **I've never even dreamed of writing a fic for this fandom; I've always been to nervous to. :3**  
> Bruce has canonical self-harm problems, so obviously I had to make a fic out of it.
> 
> [!] TRIGGER WARNING, obviously. [!]

It wasn't often that Bruce got the time to conduct his tests. 

The Wayne family butler, Alfred, had gone out to get food. It had been a while since he had left Bruce unattended, and with good reason. The last time he left Bruce for more than an hour, he came back to find the young heir standing on the roof, and the time before that Bruce had been chaining himself underwater. 

Another test. 

Bruce stared at the flame. He had managed to nick a lighter from the study- god knows why it was in there- and now... well, now he was going to test himself. If he wasn't going to do anything when his parents were being shot and murdered in front of his eyes, then he wouldn't do anything while he was getting physically injured himself. It was a coping mechanism, a challenge, a test. 

He swallowed, looking intently into the slightly flickering flame. It seemed to dance slightly, wavering and mocking him. _Scared?_ It seemed to ask. He could almost hear it snicker, and he scowled sharply. 

"No fear. No fear," He repeated out loud, raising his arm and putting it above the flame. First he was a few inches away, but he forced his arm to stay steady and inch closer than he had previously. Centimeter by centimeter, he reached the flame and finally it was licking at his arm in irritated, stinging anger, hissing and biting and hurting. Bruce narrowed his eyes and scrunched up his nose to refrain from saying anything aloud. _Hot. Hot. Hot-ow! Burn! Christ-owowowww- hothothothothotHOTHOT!_

He let out a strained hiss and finally removed his arm after a good minute, cursing his own weakness. The skin which had been held above the flame was now blistering and turning an angry red-yellow. Bruce bit his lip in frustration as his eyes watered and burned. 

There was a muted slam and Bruce jumped as the door a few rooms away closed, meaning that a certain Butler was back. Bruce froze for a split second and turned to view the door, shaking slightly as he heard the heavy footsteps near the closed door. In a flash, Bruce had snapped the lighter shut and slid it across the floor and under the dresser, pulling down the sleeve of his jumper. Right as Alfred strolled through the door of the study, the young Wayne had leaned back into a couch and picked up a photograph. 

Alfred sighed. 

"Master Bruce, you really shouldn't be lookin' at those. They're bloody awful, they are. They'll give you nightmares." 

Bruce studied the photograph of the corpses, trying not to shift uncomfortably when the fabric of the seating arrangement rubbed against his newly-inflicted burn. He ignored it. The photo was more interesting than his pain. The corpses. Two of them. Mrs. and Mr. Wayne. He simply nodded in response to Alfred.

"I already have nightmares, Alfred, and it isn't because of a photograph."


End file.
